


Hanging By A Moment

by UpToSomeAntix



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Movie: The Dark Knight (2008), My First Fanfic, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, References to Drugs, Sexual Tension, Soft Jack Napier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpToSomeAntix/pseuds/UpToSomeAntix
Summary: Queenie is an optimistic young woman making her way in the Narrows, not yet corrupted by the repulsive criminal underbelly. But after a run in with the mob, she will find herself to be keeping her head above water very soon.Set in Nolan-verse, but I changed the timeline to be set in 1997.[This is my first fanfic ever, let me know if you have any feedback.]
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

A second resounding "DING!" buzzed in Queenie's ear as she tore her eyes away once again from the man shoved in the corner booth. The sun was setting in Gotham, and the diner was set ablaze through the large windows facing the grimy street. Lingering cigarette smoke enveloped the room, sending slated sunbeams dancing across the sparkling space grey tables.  _ You Send Me  _ by _ Sam Cook  _ was oozing out at a low volume from the light up jukebox. Well, from the  _ partially  _ lit up box. A few bulbs had broken a while ago and the manager just shrugged it off when Queenie brought it to attention. 

“We have other more  _ important _ duties here kid, you know that.” Gary had chirped back, while he combed back his greasy slicked back hair for the fifth time that day. That was about six months ago. Queenie had learned a lot about the diner, it’s patrons and most importantly herself since then. 

"C'mon, Queenie, order up!" Benny's familiar gruff to Queenie through the serving window made her eyes roll. She was the only waitress on staff today, and Benny was just giving her shit.

"Alright, alright, sorry Benny Boy. I'm on it. Whatever would I do without you to keep me in line?" Queenie huffed up her breath, flaring her long bright blonde side bangs. She spun around to face the window and detained the sizzling plate of hamburger and fries sending Benny a smirk along the way. He smiled back down at her through the steam from the kitchen. 

“Don’t let it happen again, or your ass is fired!” Benny contorted his face and pretended to slick back his hair as he did a dead-on impersonation of our manager who the staff collectively called “Greasy Gary”. Benny was a tall and bulky six-foot-two bald man who didn’t take any shit, but damn he stuck up for all the workers at the dive and made it a tolerable place to work. It was just Queenie and Benny on staff this evening, so Queenie laughed a tad louder than if Greasy Gary was here. She passed by the worn bar seats, delivering the burger to Cliff at the end of the bar. He made no eye contact, as usual.

"Will that be all, Cliff?" Queenie stated plainly. Cliff grunted in response, digging in right away. She let out a small sigh, Cliff was never much of a talker. 

She turned to face the rest of the diner. The faded but still sparkling cherry red accents and black and white tiling on the floor were lit up by the dying light of the day, giving the dated fifties decor a tiny youthful lift to what the dive might have looked like in it’s height. Queenie always imagined a bustling diner, full of noise and perhaps children, with intact leather seats, old timers reading the daily paper with a steaming cup of Joe that seems to be endless, seats packed for the brunch rush on a weekend. It couldn't be more of the contrary to that today. A shell of its former self. Queenie tried to not let the bleak state infect her. 

Skipper's Diner was located in the heart of The Narrows, and was devoid of most human life. Queenie always wondered how the diner even stayed in business for this long without any visible customers. Queenie learned quickly to not question many things in Gotham, and just roll with the punches when needed.

Snagging an old rag from her apron pocket, she leaned forward to wipe off a grease stain on the counter next to the older man. She slowly turned her head back around to that familiar corner of the diner right up against the windows and the tiled wall. She couldn't help but stare. 

He had dirty blonde hair, slight waves were tossed about a sturdy and intense face focused on the task at hand. Freckles spattered his nose that was buried in a notebook, and glancing often at an open book. She couldn’t help but look at his maimed face, two scars curving upwards on either side. Nobody else seemed to pay any mind, but perhaps that’s why Skipper’s was the perfect place. 

More books were strewn about the cosmic-space grey table, and balled up papers were scattered on the floor. Even the condiment basket was tossed away to the table next to him.  _ It must have been rudely in the way of his all-important work _ . Queenie thought. His hooded inky eyes seemed to blaze right through the paper he was staring at, eyebrows scrunched down in deep thought. He slowly raised up his head, locking eyes almost immediately with Queenie.

Queenie's cheeks flared as she spun back to wiping the rest of the counter. She knew she would have to go back to the table to ask him for the sixth time to ask if he needed a refill of coffee. Placing her hands in her apron pocket, she tried to reset herself mentally. Nonchalantly walking over to the back of the diner, his eyes never seemed to release her as she walked up with her customer service “cloak” on.

_ Fake it till you make it. _ Queenie internally muttered. She does with every customer, this suspect man was no different. And anyhow, she was getting familiar with his wayward scars already, having been around him for about six hours now. 

"Another refill for the...working man?" Queenie directed to him, one eyebrow lifted.

She glanced at the empty mug expecting yet another nod. Over the hours the involved man showed more with his expressions than words.

"I'll uhh, have the check, if you woul _d_ ...Queenie." He drawled, closing his book up.

His face was unreadable as his dark eyes scanned Queenie from her red beret to her black heels, before returning back to her grey eyes. It was such a jarring demeanor than before, so Queenie tried to keep herself composed. She was used to being checked out before by the scum of the Narrows, but this was...different. Like the sniper sight was lined up already. But mostly it was his haggard voice that surprised her, disregarding the fact a fully fledged sentence was actually spoken from his mouth or that he actually looked at her for the first time that day. 

She got tagged with the nickname “Queenie” by Benny the first week she was working her tables. Her uppity suburb attitude did not jive well with the local Narrows crowd it would seem. It made her stick out like a sore thumb so her name stuck like glue ever since then. But Queenie did not have an updated name tag to reflect that, her old one reading “Ramona”. She tried to play her concrete demeanor to her advantage.

Queenie lifted an eyebrow and took the offensive to scan him down, feeling a flair of confidence. He was huddled in a dark cable knit sweater with a patterned light blue undershirt popping out of the top, and dark grey pants. He seemed disheveled, yet his face read unyielding. As she landed up to his void like eyes, she broke out into a big ol' fake smile. One of her great skills learned working in customer service. A personal defense mechanism as it were. 

"‘Queenie’ huh...well, you have quite the sharp ears there." Queenie chimed. “I'll try to remember that.” Confusion flicked behind his eyes very quickly, but he just grunted and proceeded to pack his things.

"Well, I'll be right back then." Queenie huffed hastily.

Spinning back on her black heels, she flattened out her red work dress, straightening her checkered print apron again. Queenie slowly released her breath. The  _ wonderfully  _ required company-given apron had gathered some frays over the past year she owned it. She despised the uniforms, but it was the only non-life threatening place to work close to her apartment. Plus, she didn't mind the food when she couldn't make a meal for herself. Most of the customers were regulars, but this was the first time seeing the man in here. A part of her wished he would possibly return, he kind of made the mundane day a tad more amusing.

After checking with her other tables, she ran the bill and brought it over to the corner table which was now empty. Slowly approaching the vacant space, Queenie noticed all that was left on the space-grey table was a single one-hundred dollar bill. Her eyes widened. Slowly reaching to grab it, she glanced around to see if the man was still there. All of his belongings were gone. She checked under the table for any of his trash. A single balled-up paper was left. Rolling her eyes, she nabbed it and shoved it in her pocket to dispose of later. Turning her attention back to her extravagant tip, Queenie held the bill closer and turned it over. It looked more authentic to her than anything.

She shoved the bill in her apron. “The fuck...” Queenie muttered, her cheeks reddened under her makeup.

♢

“Bye Benny!” Queenie yelled goodbye through the closing alley back door. She heard a resounding whoop in response, silenced by the metal door slamming shut. Closing wasn’t always bad. She liked the warm sodium street lamps and the short walk back to her apartment. The summer breeze tousled her hair, so she took a hairband and tied it back out of her face, but her bangs lingered. The image of Benny’s impersonation popped up again and she laughed out loud as she set off down the alley, heels clicking. The habitual drone of tires squealing and sirens wailed in the distance. 

God, she couldn’t wait to get these shoes off. She forgot to bring her tennis shoes with her in the morning rush to work. She might look good,  _ but at what cost.  _

Now, Queenie was not innocent to the dangers that always lingered around each corner, Bennie suggested to get a weapon as soon as possible when she first started working. So she carried a small mace spray. In her mind, if you expect the worst at every turn, you probably will be pleasantly surprised at anything else. It’s worked for her so far. 

Humming the motif to  _ Tonight You Belong To Me _ , (that damned song was on repeat for five times today before she kicked the Jukebox and it skipped to the next song.) Queenie shoved her hand in her pocket, fingers grasping the little canister just in case. The last thing she needed was to get her generous tip taken away from her tonight. 

Queenie was unsure why the man had tipped that much at all, it was rare to get normal tips anyhow. Behind his menacing attitude, maybe he was just shy. Or a bit off his rocker. Or both. Either way, she was one hundred dollars richer than before. It would just be icing on the Narrows cake if it got taken away. She shoved her head down and was almost to her apartment. 

“Hey girlie!” A lingering man outside another shady bar called out to her from across the street. Queenie exhaled as she turned up the steps to her aged apartment building. She pictured an umpire in her head yelling “SAFE!” 

Snickering, she whipped out her keys from her other pocket, and entered her stuffy building. Queenie was thankful that she had her windows cracked open so the summer breeze could move about her tiny studio space. 

Flicking on her lights, she turned on her record player right off the bat. After a big stretch, she unstrapped her heels and prepared herself for a relaxing bath and book time. She emptied out all her pockets and got random and miscellaneous items from the day. She placed the bill in her money box, and continued to rifle through her apron dress. The ball of paper fell out and tumbled to the floor as she pulled out her pen. 

Reaching over to grab it, Queenie pulled it open and unwrinkled the yellow notepad paper. Her steel eyes widened. 

“What the..” Queenie could barely make out the all capital font scribbles, but what she did read shocked her. 

_ GOTHAM WATER DISTRICT TUNNEL [BASE CAMP?] _

_ RECRUIT SAMPSON & CREW - UP TO THE JOB _

MAKE WAY TO THE DOCKS WITH PACKAGES. 

NEED: 20 LBS OF C4 

PICK BANKS ON LIST  GOTHAM NATIONAL

Raising her eyebrows, she wasn’t surprised now she got paid what she did. 

“Fucking mob shit...” Queenie grumbled. Of course! The one interesting person that rolls into the diner had to be part of the mob. Seems like their iron vice grip on the Narrows paid out everybody that lived and worked there. Not her. No siree. She was trying to make it on her own steam. She was going to continue preparing to go back to night school and get her shit in order. She crumpled the paper back up and threw it across the room in annoyance. 

Her bath was sweltering as she stewed in her own thoughts and unwound for the day. She flipped the pages of Sense and Sensibility, but just couldn’t focus whatsoever. She was irked from the note and mysterious man. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, that’s what. Snapping the book shut, she got out and unplugged the tub.

After wrapping a towel around her, she cooled off and was walking toward the kitchen for some water. Her record player had stopped, the silence of the room filled by her bare feet padding along the hardwood floors. Her eyes passed a stack of envelopes she used to pay her bills. Suddenly she had a plan forming.

She snatched the note off the floor and folded it up as neatly as possible. Then she grabbed an envelope as well as her tip. Queenie smiled as she licked the envelope sealed with the bill and dubious note inside. She would keep this with her to give back to the man if she ever saw him around the Narrows. She would never spend this money, ever. Her own stand was worth more than that, wasn’t it? 


	2. Chapter 2

Queenie flipped her duvet off her face. She craned her head off her pillow towards her alarm clock, it read 8:00AM in glowing red. With a groan, she sat up and decided to make the most of this glorious day. Her shift didn’t start till two, but she needed to get some other things taken care of.

Shuffling to the kitchen with a yawn, she set the tea kettle on her stove and clicked the burner on. The rosey pink sky was still developing outside her window.  _ Right, first things first. _

Queenie headed out of her door and headed downstairs to grab the freshly dropped off newspaper from the apartment lobby. She then gazed over with sleepy eyes checking the various postings on a corkboard next to the mailboxes, the foyer light flickering. The usual warnings, rules and information were hanging. Folding the Gotham Gazette under her arm, she headed back up. Guess she would have to scan the classifieds today. This became her routine lately. She wouldn’t say she was desperate yet, just...very determined. Her slippers shuffled along the carpeted hall. Queenie loved this apartment because it was  _ quiet. _ Well, more quiet than compared to other apartments. Of course there was the usual outside riff-raff, but she was lucky to have quiet neighbors at least.

Clicking the door behind her, she flicked on her TV to the morning news, plopping down on her dark grey couch. As she quickly snapped open the paper to full height, a thicker slip of paper fell out to the hardwood floor. She scrunched her eyebrows and plucked the small note up. 

_ One Time Gig - $400 Cash Paid Upfront _

_ Call number on back of card at 1:30PM on 5/3 for details. _

That was today! Queeines eyes sharpened to the note, examining the embossed letters. These were public newspapers, surely this was legitimate. Local vendors always slid adverts in the newspapers. She had heard of the odd job here and there for cash only, usually it was furniture movings or landscape work. Actually working a decent cut legitimately for the cash sounded good. Why not? No harm, no foul in just checking it out. The low whistle of the kettle started, and Queenie set the note aside, getting up. She decided she would call them before work.

♢

After running some errands and putting the little groceries she picked up away, Queenie glanced at her watch, it was running on the time she should get going. Finishing up her locks to a nice work updo, she pinned a white bow on the underside of her bun. She tilted her head in the run-down mirror. Her red lipstick matched her work outfit accents. She winged her eyeliner, and was proud of herself for matching each side up quite well. This was a good sign for the day.

Smiling, she grabbed the note off the coffee table and grabbed her bag. She remembered to wear her tennis shoes this time, and slid her work shoes in her bag. The nearest payphone was the one right outside the diner, so she figured she would just start her shift early. Before she went out the door, she snatched the envelope she would return to the mysterious man, and placed that in her apron pocket.

The walk to the Skipper’s was brisk, and nobody dared to heckle her in the sunny summer afternoon. She stopped by the telephone booth and dropped in a quarter, dialing the number on the card. She tucked the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she grabbed her pen and pad out of her apron when the phone was dialing. It rang just two times before a response.

“Who is this?” A curt gruff voice said.

“Uh, yes? Hello, this is Queenie, Queenie Jones? I am calling in regards to your advertisement slipped in the newspaper, it said to call this number at this time. Is this you?” Queenie tried to play it cool, and not sound overly excited.

“Hmm, yep that would be right. Expected sum’ else to respond.” 

“Do you still need the job to be done? I have been studying and going to school for management and-”

“We don’t care what your background is. It will be a one time job like it was listed. No questions asked. If you show up you get the gig and get paid before the job. Just meet at 12th and Grand at 11PM for an overnight job at the warehouse.”

“12th and Grand at 8PM, okay uh, do I have to bring anythi-”  _ Click.  _ Queenie looked up from scribbling the information on the pad in discomposure. She should have expected that from a job listing like this. That address was at the Gotham warehouse and shipping docks. With the four hundred dollars, she could pay for another class during the fall, so she decided to go for it. Might be meat packing or another shipping gig. And anyhow, she carried her mace.

♢

Clicking open the front door with a jingle, the welcoming haze and slow fifties tunes jolted her to work mode. She saw Benny serving up orders for the waitress on duty, Wendy. Wendy was a mid-forties waitress that had been with Skippers for a long time. Brown kind eyes and auburn hair pinned up was her signature look every day she worked. She was almost baked into the Skippers package. She was dear to Queenie, and she learned a lot from Wendy. But, Queenie had little in common to speak about so she had a relatively silent companionship. 

“Heya Wendy!” Queenie bubbled, shoving her notepad in her apron. 

“Queenie, how relieved I am to see you. Doll, would you mind getting some of the tables cleared up right away?” She was bustling with some of the regulars who hung out after the lunch rush.

“No problem, sure can. Is Gary in today?” Queenie shouted from the back as she dropped her bag in the room, strapping her work heels on and punching in. 

“No, not today dear.” Wendy called back. Queenie let out a small breath of relief. It was suffocating having him around, watching her every move like she didn’t know what she was doing. She had to focus on the dinner crowd today, and keep an eye out for what's-his-scar-face. 

After Queenie bussed the tables and returned to behind the bar, she quickly pulled out the envelope she kept in her apron, gazing at the seal. Maybe she shouldn’t return it after all. She didn’t even know if the man would return anyhow!  _ Bah! _ she would go to the overnight job tonight and wouldn’t even need his tip. She would give it back. Perhaps it was an accident anyway and he meant to leave a ten dollar bill.

After the lingering locals left, the dinner rush started to arrive at five. (If you could call it a rush.) At Skippers it was more like a gradual drip. She was wiping down one of the tables nearest the windows and the ding of the door made her head pop upwards. Queenie's face went slack. It couldn’t be, the man was back. He was wearing the same sweater with a different shirt and pants today. His tousled sandy hair framing his hooded eyes. Queenie slowly raised up from the table and smirked. He quickly gazed over and eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. 

“Would you like the same seat as before, sir?” Queenie over-charmingly asked. She wanted to butter him up before returning the bill and note. His eyes squinted in turmoil. Either he was not used to people talking to him, or...well yes that was probably it. Queenie didn’t care what the hell somebody looked like if they were a part of the mob.  _ Even if they were a tad ruggedly appealing.  _ Queenie shut that thought out of her head real quick.  _ Nope. Not here. Get out of my head, begone! _

“Yes, I suppose I woul _d."_ He husked. Swinging his backpack from off his shoulder to his arm down below, he walked over to the same booth Queenie was done wiping off, taking a seat. He was unpacking similar things as yesterday onto the table quite carelessly. Queenie tutted him at the brashness.

“Well, I’ll get you a coffee just like before as well then.” Queenie paused, and her next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could halt them. 

“Oh, and by the way I thought you would like this back.” Queenie pulled the envelope out from her apron and watched as he paused, setting his book down on the table. His eyes snapped to the white pouch Queenie was tempting him with. He seized the paper from her hand and flicked his eyes up in a bit of dismay. 

“Can’t take a ti _p,_ Queenie?” He smirked his surprise off. 

“No, not quite. I don’t deal with, hmm, well, whatever you seem to be a part of.” Queenie lowered her voice and bent closer to his ear.

“I need a dollar as much as the next person, but I like my money to be clean, thank you very much.” She almost whispered to him. He stiffened at her remarks. Queenie spun on her heel and left to deal with other customers. Her face felt like it was on fire, she needed to cool off. She didn’t intend to be so forward, but her belief carried herself too far. She attended to others in the restrault, and poured his black coffee. She asked Wendy to bring it to the table, too ashamed to go back to him. 

♢

The hours went by quickly when she was occupied with the dinner crowd. When she did have down time, she would pretend to clean tables that were already clean, and Wendy caught the drift that Queenie did not want to serve the man’s table.

“Hey Wendy, do you mind closing up alone tonight, I just found out last minute I have to take care of something at home.” Queenie asked after closing the register till. 

“Sure hon, I have you, when are you going?” 

“Seven thirty.” 

“Oh, yes no issue whatsoever. I expect a nice fat slice of apple pie for this!” Wendy laughed.

“Yeah, get me one too while you're at it.” Benny’s voice boomed from the back. Queenie laughed as well and accidentally looked over to the diner corner out of habit. The man’s shaded eyes were piercing through Queenie. She stopped laughing immediately, averting her widening eyes down back to the till.  _ What could he be thinking?  _ With a sigh, she trudged over to his table. Neither one of them said anything for a moment. 

“I meant it. I meant what I said before.” Queenie timidly said, looking up from her toes to him. 

“Jack." He responded slowly. His hands were clasped together under his mouth, thumbs under his chin head tilted towards Queenie. “You can call me Jack.” 

“Well then  _ Jack _ , as you can see with your...note, that you left behind I can’t accept something like that. It just feels...wrong. I won’t tell anybody of course, but I don’t approve, that’s all.” One of Jack’s eyebrows shot up, absorbing this information, before looking back to his book.

“Hmm so we have a moralist.” He croaked, laughing out loud. Queenie flushed again, as the laugh was loud enough to turn some heads in the diner. Queenie glanced at her watch, it read 7:15.  _ Shit. _

Queenie rocked in her heels, when he finished laughing he flipped to the next page. 

“What are you reading anyway?” Queenie inquired. She tried to glance at the words, eyes squinting getting a tad closer. Jack glanced upwards and closed the book hastily. 

“It’s a book about Nun. Have you heard of that?” 

“Nun?”

“Nun ya damn business, that’s wha _ t _ .” Jack spat out a forced laugh and flipped back to his ghastly ashen behavior. He started to clean his work up once more. Queenie’s stomach knotted.  _ Did he just make a joke? Talk about whiplash.  _ She took that as her sign to leave. He stood up to stuff his bag and popped his lips at her, dropping a few bills on the table. He towered over her, and before she could take a step back out of his way, he brushed past her with his shoulder.

“I--” Queenie faltered. The ring from the door rang and he was gone. Shaking her head, she turned back to punch out and leave so she could make it to the warehouses on time.

She slipped on her tennis shoes and said her goodbyes to Wendy and Benny. She thought she would wrap up this whole morality stance thing tonight, but was left with more questions than resolutions. Who the hell was this Jack, and why did her stomach flip after everything he said? 

As the evening sunset hit her face, she focused on her next job, setting a pace off to the subway. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Hopping off the train, she was apparently the only one getting off at the last stop on the black line. It was a ghost town on the train as well tonight. She stepped up the grime-covered stairs out of the subway, finally reaching fresh air. The address brought to the Gotham Docks, which consisted of various warehouses along the Gotham River that were suffocated with a collection of stacked shipping crates. There was a ten foot fence surrounding the property, with a gate she slipped under in the front.

Queenie strolled her way underneath the amber floodlights that were wrapped around a large warehouse overlooking the Gotham docks. Glancing back down at the address in hand along with a map she picked up in the subway, she double checked that this was the right address. The fading blue dusk haze was streaking across the sky to the brilliant orange horizon.

Her tennis shoes were comforting her aching heels as she made the walk to what looked like an entrance. Queenie glanced at her watch.  _ Right on time. _ Sighing, she peered carefully around to look for any signs of life. Her eye stopped as she caught a large figure walking toward her. 

“Hello?” She called out timidly, testing the waters. “I’m here for the job as the man on the phone told me about.”

“Yeah yeah.” A different voice than from the phone earlier called back out in response. His body entered finally into the floodlight, black hat, dark eyes and stubble on his face. He paused, scanned at her up and down, mouth twisted into a scowl. He muttered something unintelligible before sighing. “Look, jus’ head inside, and Lou can explain what is going on. You came alone?” His chunky eyebrow shot up quizzically.

Queenie froze. Usually you want to say you came with somebody when asked from a man in the middle of nowhere, but she had an impression already that she would need to say no. Sometimes the Narrows were the perfect place to get quick work because the work needed to get done, and the people wanted to get paid cash.

“No, just me.” Her voice came out more shaky than anticipated, but he pointed his head backwards to the main entrance where he came from. Queenie avoided eye contact with him when she passed by, and stuffed the note and map back in her jacket pocket. Her gut twisted already, alarm bells going off in her head. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Swinging open the metal door, she was met with about ten people already on an assembly line of sorts, working steadily packing items. It might have been an abandoned warehouse, as it was pretty vacant all around. There were stationed guards around the products they were packing, overlooking the floor. To the direct left of the entrance, there was a man sitting back in a metal folding chair with a cigarette lit in between his fingers on one hand, and a pistol in the other laying across his thigh. 

“This must be the  _ nice _ lady on the phone this morning...Queenie, was it?” The same gruff voice matched the one on the phone. “I’m Lou. This here is Steiss, and he can show you what to do.” He pointed to another armed guard walking towards them both. Steiss had a tan sweatshirt under a black jean jacket. Stamping out his cigarette on the concrete floor, Lou took out four bills from his inside jacket pocket, holding them out to Queenie. She froze while staring at his gun, looking back to him quickly. 

“Listen, if you say nothin’, then we got no problems. You got that?” His voice dropped, looking directly at Queenie. She just slowly nodded, her heart dropping about forty floors. This was not good. She was wrongly assuming late night warehouse work would be just simple manual labor for rush work like her coworkers talk about.  _ Maybe if I leave before I really see anything…  _ Queenie took a step back, hitting something solid. Turning around, it was Steiss, giving her a wide fake smile.  _ This greasy bastard.  _ He got between Queenie and the door.

“Listen, I won’t even remember this place, maybe I just wandered into the wrong building.” Queenie tried to reason, perhaps they would let her go. Reason didn’t seem to be the language spoken here, however. 

“I’m afraid we need the hands tonight.” Lou said matter-of-factly. He got up, shoving the bills into Queenie's open hand, closing her fist for her. He then clasped a hand on her shoulder a little too tightly, steering her to the converter belt line where other workers and men were. Steiss followed quietly. Queenie straightened out her diner outfit, feeling like the biggest sucker of Gotham in that moment, cheeks flared. She seemed to quickly learn that Gotham was worse than she had ever thought. Lou let go of her when they reached the conveyor belt. She shuddered and rolled her shoulder back. She looked behind and Lou was walking back to his folded metal perch already, lighting another cigarette up. 

Steiss cleared his throat and pointed to the packages in front of her, explaining the basic process they were dealing with. 

“It’s easy if you ain’t an idiot. Just shove the white baggies into the puzzle boxes coming down the line, and you would need to reseal them.” Queenie was rooted in place the whole time, frozen. Steiss’s voice was muffled.

“Hey, do you  _ understand  _ me?” Steiss barked at Queenie. She sharply inhaled back to the present, simply nodding and started copying the other workers' movements. 

“Hmph. Good.” He turned back to his post to watch the workers. A million thoughts raced through Queenie’s head, she didn’t know how to sort them quite yet. If she stayed, there was no guarantee of safety, and if she tried to run, it could mean death as well. She wondered how long the others had been here.

♢

After about what seemed forty-five minutes of straight silent working, she tried to communicate to the worker to the right of her. Maybe they would know something more about how long it would be.

“Hey, hello?” Queenie gently tapped the man on the shoulder over his jacket. He was an older surly man who gave off a pungent smell. He had labored breathing and slowed his movements, slowly turning to face her. He looked dog-tired with bloodshot eyes. Queenie’s eyes widened.

“Listen, do you know if-”

“Hey, No talking, get back to work!” Steiss snarled at her. She shot him a dirty look.  _ It’s just four-hundred Queenie. I don’t need the money, just my life. Just do the damn job. _ This was all totally against what she stood for. 

“I just want to know when this is going to be over, that’s all.” Queenie sassed back maybe a bit more than she meant to let out. 

“It’s over when we say it’s over, sweetheart.” Steiss walked over, trying to intimidate her with his eyes and voice. Queenie scoffed, continuing to pack the puzzles when she mumbled with words that just slipped out.

“Yeah and have dog-breath here exhale down my neck the whole time.” As quickly as she looked up, Steiss’s arm was raised up and swung the butt of his now-apparent gun across her forehead. She lurched to the floor, stabbing pain shooting from her forehead. Queenie’s hand went to her head, holding where he hit her. She saw double for a second, hearing a buzzing in her ear. 

“Get the fuck up and continue your job, bitch.” 

Queenie grabbed the edge of the counter and pulled herself up slowly. Things were still swimming for her, and her stomach lurched. Steiss walked away, headed toward Lou.

“Are you okay?” A worker across her whispered. It was a man in his late thirties, tangled dark hair and rings under his eye.

“It’s fine. I-I just shouldn’t have come here, that’s all.” Queenie's stomach lurched again as she tried to continue the packing. “How long have you been here, anyway?” She asked. 

“About five hours. They let you have bathroom breaks, however.” He nervously looked away from Queenie back to his work. There was a silent pause before he hesitated to speak again.

“It’s okay, I needed the money as well.” He admitted. 

“Had I known-” Queenie started. She looked up to find Steiss. He was still busy talking to Lou. She lowered her voice even more. “Had I known it was mob related, I wouldn’t even dream of going. I feel like a goddamned hypocrite. A fool.” She glanced back up to the man from her work, and he only nodded stiffly. 

♢

It had been about another hour before Queenie decided to use the bathroom. 

“Hey, uhhh  _ Steiss. Yeah, _ I need to use the can.” She raised her eyebrows to him, feeling her developing bruise in full force. He rolled his eyes and pointed to the back corner of the warehouse with his thumb.

“For uhh, womanly things.” Queenie eyed her bag at the front entrance. He just stared back at her venomously. He got up and walked her bag over to her, rummaging through it before handing it over. He snagged her tiny mace out of the bag, smirking thinking he was the smartest man on earth. Jokes on him, for she did not care about that at all. Queenie ripped the bag back from him harshly and made her way to the back, with Stiess following.  _ These were just some goons, they wouldn’t miss her. She already got paid, hadn’t she? _

Clicking the over-painted forest green door wooden door closed behind her, she flicked on the light, the dim single bulb hummed to life.  _ Jesus, it looks like a Camp Crystal Lake bathroom!  _ Queenie thought. She looked around for any sort of window. Bingo. There was an awning she could prop open. 

She checked that her shoes were tied up, and then quieted down to be able to hear around her. It was radio silent, so she proceeded to switch the latch open. The hook crusted open gradually until it gave out. Pausing again to listen for activity, Queenie pushed the window up, and lifted herself up to stand on the white painted radiator that was just below the window. It rocked under her weight. Queenie tossed her bag out the small window, hearing it plop to the ground outside. She cringed at the sound, pausing again. She slowly grabbed the frame around her body to push herself out, swinging her legs over and dropping until Queenie was hanging by her hands on the outside of the warehouse. She glanced down, five feet below her was the ground. Letting out a breath, she dropped, rolling to the ground. Her ankles shot with a quick vibrating pain, before it faded. 

Grabbing her bag, she checked her corners and slinked around the wall of the warehouse. Sucking in a breath, she saw the previous guard still on patrol outside.  _ Damn! _ Queenie turned to reach the opposite side of the building, pulse racing a tad faster than before. When she passed the window again, she heard Steiss’s voice. 

“Are you fucking done? Hello?” A bang on the door she closed inside got louder. This caused Queenie to shoot forward faster, checking out the other side to get back away from the docks. 

“WHAT THE HELL!” Queenie looked backwards to the noise. Steiss was fuming, head poking out of the window, gaping at her. 

“You are in so much fucking shit!” His head flashed back inside.  _ Uh oh. _

Picking up the pace, she dodged and weaved between the lined shipping containers, back to the open-fenced exit to the subway. 

Yelling was heard as another guard was sprinting back to the main entrance gate, his gun held high. She made the split second decision to turn left and scale the chain link fence up and over the depot walls. There was some littered barbed wire at the top, but her mind was racing too fast to notice that until she was at the top. The metal barbs gashed her leg, immediately drawing blood. Grimacing, Queenine flipped her other leg over the top, the wire catching her shoelace mid-flight. She gave it a tug, but it was stuck on the cotton strings. Suddenly, a blinding white flashlight shined on her face, she blocked it with her arm over her eyes. 

“Get the FUCK down!” A faceless goon yelled to her, firing a warning gunshot up into the air. This startled Queenie into a jolt. It was enough to pull her foot out of her shoe, but she lost her balance, tipping down the height of the wall. She shrieked out, arms reaching out to open air. A crunch was heard when the ground came up to meet her ankles. Her head snapped back down to the concrete. It was a good thing her legs took the brute of the fall.

“Ughnnnnf.” She got up slowly, adrenaline kept her mind conscious along with fear. The man then sprinted back away from the fence, yelling back to the direction of the warehouse that she was over the fence. Head throbbing, Queenie touched the back of her head, and felt a wetness. 

When she was fully up, a sharp pain shot from her ankle, tripping her back. She took a deep breath and focused on just what was infront of her.  _ Subway. Subway. Subway!  _ Maybe a person there might be able to help her. She clenched her teeth, at least Queenie had a little leeway. 

Stumbling along the service road, it was just about three hundred feet away to the subway station. Hot blood was running down Queenie’s leg as well, soaking her sock on one foot. Turning her head back, she still heard multiple different voices yelling, and an engine was starting. 

Oh  _ FUCK. _

Picking up as much speed as she could, she limped back to the station. She turned back once more, when she heard the sound of the wheels behind her getting more intense. An old red pickup truck was barreling right towards her, loose gravel kicking up from the tires as it swung out of the fenced lot. Queenie choked back a sob of fright. She was almost to the stairs, maybe she could hide in the bathroom.

Another crack split the air, it sounded like their tire had popped on the gravel. Queenie felt a poke in her upper arm, barely noticing the affliction. Limping a few more feet, her hand finally reached the subway armrail. A rapid hot searing then ripped through her shoulder, making Queenie release a shrill screech. Dropping on her knees on the ground right in front of the descending stairs, the rest of her body fell forward, face smashing against the gritty concrete.

“Fuckin-a man, I think you got her!” Lou let out, astonished. The car’s brakes screeched to a halt close by, a group of men getting out. Queenie’s eyes fluttered, seeing red spots. The searing pain would not let up, it felt like a hot iron poker was being jammed into her shoulder blade. A hot sticky liquid was surging around her cheek, making her sputter out, gagging. She heard footsteps slowly walk up to her, before they slowed down. 

_ This is it.  _

Stepping over Queenie, he paused to tuck his gun in behind his back under his belt. He then centered and ground his knee down on her, knocking the wind out of her. She let out a gasp, when he grabbed her hair, jerking her head up. He lowered himself down to her ear. 

“Looks like ‘dog-breath’ caught up to ya, sweetcheeks.” Queenie registered Stiess’s voice hissing in her ear, before slamming her head back down, eliciting another wail from her. He rummaged through her bag to the side again, looking for anything she might have taken.  _ They think I stole drugs! _

“Nothin’ boss.” Steiss let his knee off her, stepping back. Queenie sucked in a sharp expanding breath. Lou walked over, chuckling under his breath. He dropped to her face, grabbing her blood-slicked jaw, craning it to him.

“Are your telling me Queenie, that you ran over fuckin’...nothing?”

“I- _ hunf _ I didn’t want to work for the mob-I, I-'' Queenie's heart slammed in her chest, body numb from pain. “I just want to go  _ home _ .” Queenie’s voice broke, and hot tears started down her face, avoiding eye contact with Lou. He tutted and dropped her chin, studying her face.

“Boys, we can’t leave loose ends here. Clean this shit up and finish the job tonight. I’ll let Falcone know what happened.” He stood up and wiped his hands off on his jacket, lighting another cigarette.

“Please! Please help me!” Queenie howled out with her remaining energy. Her breathing got labored, and eyes unfocused, a sweat breaking out on her forehead. Her eyes finally drooped down, a dazed cloud falling over her. Suppressed voices were chatting around her as she phased out, balancing between two worlds. 

“Yeah, I’m going to enjoy this.” Steiss made his way to grab her limp arm, when he suddenly released it.

“The fuck--” A series of screams, grunts and gurgles were heard, bodies collapsing to the ground.

“No, STOP!” Steiss’s cry was muted with a slash to his throat, and the man held his neck as he drove his knife into Steiss’s stomach multiple times. 

“And _ I _ caught up to  _ you _ ...sweetcheeks.” A raspy voice directed to Stiess in his ears, dropping him to the concrete with a wicked smile. 

“Now, this is no way to treat a lady, is it?” He tucked his knife inside the back pocket of his pants. Patting his chest, he eyed down Queenie with a ghostly white face. He ripped a shirt off one of the slain goons, bringing it to Queenie’s shoulder, applying pressure, and wrapping around her shoulder.

“What have we gotten ourselves into, Queenie, hmm?” He brushed her sweat and blood matted hair out of her face behind her ear with his purple glove. Her eyes fluttered behind her lids, breath panting slower than before. 

“C’mere.” Jack murmured, hoisting her slackened frame up over his shoulder, back out to the empty pickup truck. 


	4. Chapter 4

Queenie’s head leaned on the side of a window, her head vibrating. Her eyes cracked open still unfocused, mind wandering adrift. The city buildings were blurring past outside the glass pane. All she felt was a throbbing in her head, a numbing pain in her ankle, and a perpetual knife stabbing in her shoulder.  _ Not dead.  _ She closed her eyes again, the swirl of consciousness conjuring nauseousness. Queenie slumped back down, too tired to take in any more.

♢

Two firm arms wrapped under Queenie’s red-stained diner outfit, lifting her from where she was sitting. After some rattling keys, Jack had kicked the door open with his foot. He lay her on his couch, shoving an extra pillow under her neck, propping up her right-side shoulder up where the bullet wound was. He cracked his neck to the side with a soft grunt, pulling out his knife to place on the side table next to the door, and lighting the lamp nearby. 

Jack headed back to his bathroom. Rolling up his sweater sleeves, he started scrubbing off his face paint hastily under the luke-warm water from the rusted faucet. He then grabbed his familiar colorfully-stained rag to pat his face, dabbing carefully around his two scars.

Snatching a box, Jack crammed it full of tools, pain medication, and various bottles of liquid from his bathroom shelves, tucking it under his arm. He walked back out to his living room, setting the box on the barren coffee table across from a now writhing Queenie. He pulled up a stool over to the edge of his worn couch. He undid the makeshift bandage from Queenie’s shoulder, starting to inspect her wound with an intense gaze. Queenie’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat chest heaving, back arched up off the couch.

“Mmmf, wha’s going on...who…?” Queenie babbled. Her hand fumbled around until it grapled to Jack’s sturdy forearm. 

“Mmm, You got uh-sho _ t _ , just stay as still as you can.” Jack breathed back out quietly, pushing her back down. Turning to the box, he took an unlabeled pill bottle and flipped the top off, taking two tablets out. 

“J-Jack?”

“Just take these.” He opened her mouth, and dropped the pills in, closing her jaw. She struggled, until he saw her throat swallow down.

“Good girl.” Jack rumbled, patting her cheek. He grabbed Queenie’s withered hand off his arm, and tossed it back to her. He gazed down at her pinned on name-tag, twitching his mouth up slightly. Grabbing the bottle of rubbing alcohol, Jack poured some slowly around her shoulder. Queenie jerked her head up, eyes fluttered open, giving out a low groan, her legs bucking up. The bullet didn’t make it all the way through, it would just have to stay for now, because it would cause much more damage if attempted to be taken out. 

He lowered back down to the wound with a needle and strung nylon. He sewed a purse string suture around the entrance wound. Queenie grabbed the couch cushion, hands turning white from the grip. Jack hummed a low tune, quite composed with his hands steady the whole time as he made his way around. 

When he finally finished up with antibiotic paste and a gauze pad taped over, he noticed Queenie had quieted as the drug had started working, her breathing getting deeper. 

After cleaning everything up, and turning off the lights, Jack sat back in his corner comforter overlooking the couch where she lay now undisturbed. He was flicking his lighter open and closed, in sync with her chest rising and falling. He lived on the basement level underneath an abandoned laundromat, the street light creeping down through the hopper window to illuminate Queenie up.

Luck. Dumb luck. He was in the area trying to follow up on his package drop at the docks when he heard the commotion of Falcone’s men. He didn’t really know why Queenie in particular was wrapped up in mob business, especially after what she had to say to him the other day. He could have just left her for the wolves. But once he heard her harrowing scream, he had turned back. 

Maybe it’s because he knew that scream, heard it before in some distant world he was once a part of. Or perhaps it was the way that when she talked to him, she looked at just him, instead of wandering over to his visible wounds. 

Jack finally got up to crash on his bed, taking off his sweater, throwing it on the ground. He counted on the drugs to keep Queenie knocked out longer than him. His last thought before darkness consumed him was hoping his rare fleeting moment of weakness would not come back to bite him.

♢

Queenie lifted her eyes open, inhaling deeply. She felt cloaked in a blanket, warmth radiating throughout her whole body. She had never felt this... _ content  _ in her life before. A lazy smile reached her face, her arm lifted to run through her tangled hair, brushing it out of her face. A light dusting settled on her nose, making her scrunch. Queenie looked at her fingers, red flakes rested on her finger tips. Memories ran through her mind of last night, as she grabbed her shoulder in reaction. The voices came back first, resounding in her head.  _ Jack!  _

Lifting her head a tad off the pillow, Queenie glanced around. The small, poorly lit, barren apartment contained just enough to make it functional, but contained no sort of personality. It had a similar atmosphere to her own apartment, with exposed pipes and white over-painted cabinets. Her elated feeling gave a glow to her vision when she finally settled on Jack, who was sitting at his kitchen table facing to the side. He was bent over, shoulders hunched up into packing something up into a box. 

“Jack?...” Queenie dreamily spoke, watching him turn his head back and lock eyes with her. “Did you bring me here?” He didn’t speak, but simply stood up, his full frame filling more of the room than Queenie would have expected. Jack’s white t-shirt was taut along his lanky chest and upper arms, exposing various unseen scars, scrapes and bruises. He had a small patch of white paint on his forehead, that got more visible to Queenie as Jack stepped closer to the couch. He reached a hand over, grabbing her chin up to take a look in her pinpointed irises.

“Hmm, medication is still working I see?” Jack released her, his hooded eyes subdued Queenie to lean back into the pillow, his presence smothering. He turned back to his kitchen table.

Queenie pushed herself up with her good arm slowly, so she sat right on the edge of the couch. She paused, a head rush making her forehead throb. Sounds of gurgles and screams made her way back again, reality and dream fading into one another as she remembered what Jack had done. “You...  _ alone...  _ _ How...? _ ” Queenie trailed, her eyes widening, staring down beneath her socks. A blood stain from last night was now permanently on her white sock, that part of her foot blended into the rug below her. Jack avoided the question, pausing still facing away from Queenie.

“And I uhhh, can’t help but wonder why a certain  _ waitress _ was down at the docks. It wouldn’t be to make some  _ clean money,  _ now could it? Queenie’s face burned up yet again. Jack turned his head around to look at her. She put her hands in her apron out of habit, clenching around the cash she was given. She took it out, and tossed it on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Fine, take this as thanks then. Whatever.” She bitterly spit the words out. Struggling to push off the couch, wanting to leave as soon as she could.

“Gah!” All her weight shifted on her leg, her ankle buckled out on the floor. Not even the medication could mask the jarring pain. Sprawled on the floor, she pushed halfway up when met with Jack’s face in hers. 

“Going somewhere- _ ah _ ?” Jack’s glassy black eyes were void of care, as he grasped Queenie back to sitting on the couch. She swatted his arm away in embarrassment as he snickered. 

“Ow. Fuckin’...fucking mob...Fuck this! I just want to go home.” 

“Afraid you can’t uhh, do tha _t."_ He stopped his grin. Going back to his comfortable stillness.

Queenie had no desire to understand what Jack meant. Her world wavering again, pain threatening to blot out her vision. She rolled back to lay down on the couch, stifling a groan.

“I’m going to need another one of those pills.” 

♢


	5. Chapter 5

Queenie was being brought back slowly from a silent bliss. The second pill had knocked her back out with a pleasant smother, but now reality was creeping back in, causing her injuries to wake up as well. She looked around, it was a muffled quiet, the normal city noises above her from the window above her. A deep blue tint filtered down, lighting the room up. Queenie figured it might be getting on dusk. 

She sat herself slowly on the couch with a groan, stretching her good left arm above her head. Sniffing, she winced at the smell she was now accruing.  _ Oh great.  _ On the coffee table in front of her, The Gotham Gazette was wrinkled and folded back haphazardly. Taking a few blinks to clear her eyes, she grabbed it. It felt weird to use her off-hand, it took more coordination. Cruising past the re-election of Mayor Garcia taking up most of the front page, a smaller headline stuck it’s head out:

**_Gotham Slaughter At Docks!_ **

_ Yesterday early morning, warehouse worker Sal Russo found bodies scattered around the warehouse district. Detective Ramirez is heading up the newly opened case. One victim has been identified as of yet, Max A. Steiss. No additional information is known at this time. Please contact the GCPD if you have any knowledge. _

Queenie’s eyes crystalised on the printed words. She tossed the paper on the other end of the couch, trying to get it as far away as possible. This could not be happening. One moment she is serving flapjacks and coffee, the next she almost lost her life. Rolling back her shoulder with a wince, she realized going to the bathroom was a top priority. 

Pushing up slowly, she felt every muscle strain under her skin. It was bad. Like, the  _ worst _ day after a workout possible, bad. Her eye caught the chair next to the couch. A folded pile of clothes were left. Looking down, Queenie saw the state of her now-ruined uniform that was the source of reeking.

Picking up the pile, she hop-shuffled very, very slowly to the tiny bathroom shoved in the corner of the apartment. Her ankle flared with pain every step closer. Clicking the lightswitch on, she tossed the clothes on the counter and closed the door to a crack. After finally relieving herself, she washed her hands, glancing up at the mirror. 

Her eye makeup had circled two black rings around her eyes, casting a harrowing look. Queenie’s red lipstick faded and smeared up past her lips, her foundation was completely gone. She looked like she had been tossed in a washer and dryer on the highest setting. Unsettled, she turned towards the tub to her back left side. Some hot water sounded ideal. Giving a pull to the faucet, she plugged the tub and started to undress, slipping out of her demolished dress as the roar of water continued. 

Bending back up from dropping her clothes, she faced herself in the mirror. The state of Queenie’s body shocked her, as she brushed gently over her now yellow-brown blotched bruises scattered all around her body. Her goosebumps flared, blonde hair raising. The gash on the top of her thigh from the barbed wire was painful to the touch. Queenie moved her finger up lightly to the discoloration on her temple that Steiss had given to her. She could only remember his screams. She pulled her eyes immediately away from inspecting herself, and flicked off the lights that were making her head pound. Relief immediately came to her eyes, as she blew out a sigh. The diminishing dusk light made the white bathroom glow a soft blue through the overpainted top window, adding a familiar atmosphere to her own bathroom at home. 

_ Home. _

She tested the water temperature, turning the roaring faucet off. Silence enveloped the room. With an iron grip, she slowly lifted her hurt ankle up over into the tub, submerging gently. Queenie hissed with relief and pain at the same time, welcoming the sweltering heat. It was the first time she could be alone with her pain. Melting into the water, Queenie didn’t feel like moving much. Hugging her chest up to her knees, she suddenly couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her face as she dug in her face down in her knees, leaning her body against the tiled wall to her left.

♢

Cracking her eyes open, Queenie noticed the room was now pitch black, save for the sliver of light emitting from the bathroom door. She was awoken by the rummaging of noise outside in the kitchen, cabinets banging about. She moved her ankle in the water, flinching at the frigid water lapping at her, sending a shiver down her back. She scrunched her nose, her tight cheeks lifting up from the dried tears. The pain medication even slowed her thinking just a bit, placing her in a wandering haze.

“Heh, listen kid, I uh, don’ _ t _ want to intrude on your  _ me _ time there doll, but you’ve been in there for too long, and I need my  _ me  _ time.” Jack asserted out to Queenie from the kitchen, the almost closed door failing to dampen his jarring voice.

Queenie pictured Stiess’s knee digging at her back, hearing his breath in her ear. She closed her eyes again, heartbeat racing. She was frozen in agony, unable to move. She almost didn’t even notice Jack loitering outside the door, casting a shadow over the crack of light, submerging the room in complete darkness.

“Queenie, get out... _ now. _ ” His voice took a sterner tone, gravely annoyed. He tapped on the door. She still didn’t say anything, her eyes locked to staring at the barley visible faucet in front of her that was dripping lazily. Rooted in the tub, her heartbeat raised even higher, mind racing in a loop to calm herself, even though the feeling of being on high alert only escalated.

Jack shoved the door open wide with his palm, letting the kitchen light flood in to illuminate Queenie contorted in the tub. His furrowed brows and grimace twitched almost imperceptibly as he stepped inside. Jack then moved closer, lowering down to the side of the white tub. Jack watched her rapid breaths expand her pale ribcage. 

He didn’t say a word but only grabbed a washcloth on the edge of the tub to dampen it in the bath. He tilted his head slightly after feeling the temperature. Jack then placed one hand firmly behind Queenie’s head, placing pressure on it as he smudged the cloth gently across Queenie’s face. He started working his way around her features. Her grey eyes still unfocused, he cleaned up her black rings, the action familiar to him. 

He stopped after most of the makeup, grime and dirt was wiped away, tossing the cloth back into the tub. He reached down in the water, pulling the stopper out. Her eyes finally linked to his, an unspoken thanks taking place.

“Make it fast.” Jack simply said, wheeling back around out the door, shutting it behind him. 

♢

Queenie tottered out of the bathroom, holding the walls around her for support. Her wet hair dragged down her back, dampening the oversized tee shirt that was lent to her. She was also wearing very baggy sweatpants as well, which warmed her up. Jack came into view when she turned the corner, he leaned against the kitchen wall facing the kitchen table scribbling something down in a notepad. He didn’t acknowledge her until she reached the table, noticing a plate of pizza rolls laid out to the open seat. Saying nothing, her mouth started watering as her stomach growled from seeing the food. Queenie sat down and popped one into her mouth, biting down. The hot burning made her sputter out in pain, the roof of her mouth now numb.

“Careful  _ doll _ , they’re hot off the press.” Jack said, inattentively, continuing to write in his pad. 

“Yeah, I got that.” Queenie mumbled. She poked a few rolls around the plate, deciding to wait a few minutes before scarfing the rest down. Staring at him, she noticed his forearm muscle flex every time he scribbled his pen. Heat rose to her cheeks, so she looked down to her lap.

“Listen, I-I should go. Thank you for your help, really. It’s just that I need help getting home, then II won’t bother you ever again. Really.” She scooched the chair back, slowly standing up again, her ankle flaring in pain.

“Ah-ta-ta. You’re no _ t  _ going  _ anywhere _ .” Jack purred, a smirk creeping up on his face. Queenie paused, her stomach clenching, not completely in fear but something else.

“And  _ why _ would that be?” She sassed, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, Queenie, after my little rescue mission, I just happened to miss one guy who was leaving the lot talking on a phone to talk to his boss, _Falcone._ By the time I dealt with him, Falcone already had your name.” Dropping the pad and pencil on the table lazily _,_ he crossed his arms together to his chest. His eyes expressly looked upwards as if he were pretending to think hard about something. _“_ What was his name? Oh yeah, I think It was... _Lou_.” Queenie stiffened, eyes shifting away from Jack in realization. _That would mean that he knows everything about...me. Fuck!_

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Jack grabbed a pizza roll from her plate, popping it in his mouth and ate it with amusement, his eyebrows waggling. If the hot roll bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“You think this is funny?” She walked up to him with a glare. His looming height above her did not do her statement any justice. He only smiled downwards to her, lidded eyes smothering her, like he held an amusing secret. Her bravado soon faltered with a realization. “They fucking know where I live, where I...where I work…” Queenie trailed, backing away from Jack, turning to the door. 

  
“I need to go to the diner now.” She turned the door knob, parting the door, a slight summer night breeze rolled down from the outdoor stairs cascading from the street to the entrance.

“It’s two in the morning, good luck with that.” Jack leaned off the wall, grabbed another pizza roll to eat, and plopped down on the couch to click on the television. Queenie let out an exasperated sigh, walking over to her clothes back in the bathroom, pulling out her keys from the arpon, and shoving them in her pocket. Walking back, she ate a few rolls that had now cooled off to tolerance. Pulling the door further to walk out, she headed up the stairs one at a time, dragging her bad ankle up. Looking around after getting to the street level, she immediately knew where she was. She was just a few blocks away from her place in the Narrows.  _ Fine. I’ll go home and fucking get my life back to a shred of normalcy. _

♢

Her building came into view after a slow and painful gait to her street. Things were strangely quiet along the neighborhood, but there were still the constant distant sounds of honking horns, and steam hissing. Staggering up the front stairs, she looked at the front lock, grabbing them out of her sweatpant pocket. Queenie looked down at the pack of newspapers piled in the lobby. She averted her eyes back away.  _ Never again. _

She made her way to her floor, and slid the key into her ancient apartment door lock, clicking it to the side. Queenie twisted the knob, pushing in the door with a creak and flicking on the light. With a gasp, she gawked around. The entire apartment was torn apart. It seemed a tornado blazed a trail in. Her couch pillows strewn, books ripped from their shelves, vinyl albums tossed.

“The fuck…” She slowly stepped inside further astounded. As fast as she was able to, she went to her desk, trying to find her tin box.

It was nowhere to be found. It had her passport and various important government documents inside. Gutting her desk apart, she carelessly ripped through papers and the initial mess trying to find it. Her shoulder burned from the effort.  _ Shit. _ Her stomach dropped to the floor, as more tears threatened to escape her eyes. How could this happen within two days? Her whole life was flipped upside down because of a stupid job. She should have listened to her gut. The only reason she was even alive was because of Jack. 

She paused, putting a hand to her forehead. She limped over to her messaging machine next to the couch. A red number eight burned into her eyes, so she pressed the play button for all. She put the couch cushion back on from the floor, taking the weight off her ankle when she sat down to listen.

“Hello, Queenie! Jesus where the hell are you? Benny said you didn’t come in. I swear to god you better-” Gary’s voice was cut off by Queenie pressing next. It was Gary again.

“Queenie, I am not messing around. If you don’t answer this next call, you are so fired. Don’t count on-” Queenie kept her finger on the next button. Gary left three more messages, all threatening. Finally, a different voice broke through, making Queenie smile a bit.

“Hey Queenie, this is Benny. Listen I know Greasy Gary is mad, but we really needed you today. I know you always give us a heads up, but now I’m worried. If you could just-” Queenie pressed next on the last message. A soft but threatening voice oozed out of the speaker.

“Don’t you think you can insult me and walk away, you sneaky bitch. You killed my men. And for that, there is a price.” The message clicked off. His message entrenched Queenie on the couch, spiking her heart rate. He thinks she killed them all at the docks, _ oh my god. _

That was it. She should leave, now. Limping to her closet, she grabbed her large over the shoulder gym bag, and started stuffing it with random clothes and undergarments that were strewn across her room, as well as her money box full of cash. Grabbing toiletries from her hallway cabinets, she spun to the bathroom to cram what she could in her bag, stuffing everything down. Queenie’s hand was shaking when she pulled the knob back to her apartment door, taking one last look around, before shutting the door behind her.

♢


End file.
